


nothing stops

by erintoknow



Series: Aria-Rough Drafts [25]
Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén, Fallen Hero: Rebirth (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, POV Female Character, POV Second Person, Panic Attacks, Slow Burn, Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-26 11:19:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19004725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erintoknow/pseuds/erintoknow
Summary: The morning after the Gala debut of her new villain persona, Ariadne Becker has Some Regrets





	nothing stops

****

“Oh.” You say, your voice flat. “I get it.” You step back, away from an empty mirror.

 

And you’re awake again, your back stiff from having fallen asleep at your desk, temporarily blinded by the pastel colors of your monitor’s screensaver. You can feel every bruise, every pulled muscle in your body. They’re all screaming at once like unruly children. The adrenaline from last night is gone and now…. and now… what, exactly? Last night you felt more alive than you had in years, maybe in your entire life, but now? You shift your head, check pressed against the desk and wiggle the mouse to wake your computer up.

You’re not sure where it started, but at some point in the stream of articles and social media hot takes, your new persona had been christened ‘Puppetmaster.’ You blow a stream of tired air from your lungs as you skim over one such article. Maybe it was a mistake not to come up with your own name? Last night you thought it was funny but now? There’s something about this one that leaves a foul taste in your mouth. Your identity is supposed to be secret and this feels too on the nose for Ariadne Becker, the retired psychic vigilante. It’s the exact same level of terrible you would have come up with. Once again the public has disappointed you.

A picture of the damage to the museum is the newest item on your newsfeed. The camera has focused in on Sidestep’s dummy head resting upside down among shattered glass and scattered plastic arms and legs. Underneath someone has commented ‘Mood.’

You roll your eyes and spin the scroll wheel, scanning through more news reports of the damage from last night. Nothing you don’t already know at this point. Herald and Julia – _Ortega_ hospitalized, Argent won’t talk to the press and Steel spent the whole night combing the city for Puppetmaster. For you, you remind yourself.

You are not Ariadne who is playing at being, you wince at the name, Puppetmaster. You are (ugh) Puppetmaster who must unfortunately sometimes pretend to be Ariadne. You stop your scrolling through newsfeeds to stare a photograph of you standing over a beaten Ortega. This one is new. It’s an overhead shot from a helicopter. The vantablack paint of your suit creates an eerie effect, as if the void itself is poised to bring its fist down on the hero of Los Diablos.

Thinking about Julia is dangerous, and so of course you can’t stop doing it now. The fight itself is a blur already fading from memory save those final moments. You had your chance to finally put an end to her (and subsequently Ariadne) for good and you choked. Couldn’t do it. In fact, for all the chaos last night, there wasn’t a single death from that entire fiasco, so what are you? The friendliest ghost?

What possessed you to go see her afterwards? Why in hell is it that the first thing you do after your big debut humiliating the rangers and destroying the city’s dumb hollow memorial to fartsniffers is to immediately risk throwing everything all away? Stupid, stupid.

She looked so frail in that hospital bed.

Why didn’t Julia stop you? You clench your fist as you stare at Ortega’s picture on the screen. Why did she have to be so selfish as to pull Ariadne back out of the grave if she wasn’t going to have the wherewithal to put something else there in its place? No, no, Julia shouldn’t–doesn’t matter, none of them do! They’re all just obstacles or tools or pawns in your way while you King Lear your vengeful ghost ass through California.

Anything between you should have died seven years ago with Sidestep and Anathema, and you absolutely can not afford to still be carrying a torch for this idiot, smug, philandering, beautiful woman who absolutely refuses to stop being nice at you even from the very hospital bed you put her in. And – you cover your face with your hands, groaning – why in god’s sake did you fucking kiss her before running away like a coward? You’ll _never_ be rid of her now.

She should, no, she _needs_ to retire before she gets herself killed. Before y-

Before Puppetmaster kills her.

You close out the web browser, you don’t want to look at the news any more. You just want to lay there in the dark and not think about anything.

But at some point even the blinds can’t keep the sun out. You have to get up. You have to brush your teeth, you have to comb your hair, you have to shave your face and you have to cover it up. You have to get dressed. You have to go outside. You have to walk through a swarm of buzzing self-absorbed minds. You have to get breakfast. Life doesn’t stop just because you stepped over the edge. There’s so much farther you have to fall, so many SoBs to take with you.

There you are, front billing on the newsstands, an empty void of a figure. You’re the headline of the day. Who is the Phantom of the Gala indeed? “If you have an idea,” you mutter to yourself, “clue me in.”


End file.
